No Loneliness in the Woods
It’s not uncommon for folks to inquire with us about whether we feel isolated or lonely living remotely in the woods, untethered from town and without close-by neighbors. And I can see how a person would think loneliness arises as an automatic response to living apart from other people, but this has not been the case for us. At least not now and not yet.
We are all so wonderfully and mysteriously and importantly and incredibly different. For many folks, spending even a small amount of time in the unpopulated woods or quiet countryside, let along living amid it, would not be their idea of any sort of good time. And, it doesn’t need to be! I say this to highlight how common it is for us to think our idea of a good time should be everyone’s idea of a good time. As a human collective, I don’t think we’ve managed to get a very good handle on how to properly acknowledge and respect our differences, let alone value and appreciate and honor them.
Speaking for myself personally, as a writer; a meditation practitioner; a contemplative; a woman who leans strongly towards introversion (tho I see myself as an ambivert); an internal processor; a poet; a singer/songwriter; an only child, I consider myself well-suited to live remotely in the woods. My personality and disposition is fashioned well for the way we’re living. We all have our places we feel most alive and inspired by, and the woods is one such place for me. For some it’s in a big city or on the farm or by the ocean.
Isolation is more a state of mind and quality of heart than a physical experience of separation. Many of us feel alone even when surrounded by a forever sea of people. Truth be told, I feel more tethered to humanity out here in the woods than I did living in town. Maybe it’s because out here we are without the fray of the static of noise gunking up my heart’s ability to be an open channel to accept the pure wave frequency of kinship and connection, which is always and forever being inherently offered by natural design.
And besides, it’s not as though we’re out here doing our own thing. We are slow-building community too. We host occasional events and gatherings and we invite and encourage folks to come out to visit and/or stay overnight. Also, ya know, we do go to town. We’re not interested in hermitting ourselves away out here. Well, at least not entirely.
I’m also discovering that a large community of trees makes for really good company. The trees model how I want to live. They offer mentorship in the direction I want to go. Their qualities of being aligns with my own. Trees are wise teachers and good friends. Prior to living in the woods, I’d only spent short stints of time in the woods hiking & camping. Being fully submerged in the quiet, calm and graceful energy of the trees, full time and every day, is a deep source of nourishment I can’t fully explain in words. Though as a writer and a songwriter and a poet, I do enjoy and feel compelled to try! I wrote this song recently, which comes as close as I can get at present, to relaying this newfound unfolding feeling.
I love when certain things just happen to align. In one of the books I am currently reading, In Short: A Collection of Brief Creative Nonfiction, edited by Judith Kitchen and Mary Paumier Jones, I came across this line just the other day, in a short story called Natural Edges by John Lane: “There was no loneliness in the woods.” Huzzah and amen, my heart declared! Finally, someone else who gets it.
I am also reminded of a few quotes by John Muir, a native to Scotland born in 1838, who is commonly known as the father of the national parks here in the U.S:
Between every two pine trees is a doorway leading to a new way of life.
The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness.
And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.